


Food as a Love Language

by Shearmouth



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, TK and Carlos are soft, Tarlos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23100862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shearmouth/pseuds/Shearmouth
Summary: Carlos has a bad shift. TK helps.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 35
Kudos: 514





	Food as a Love Language

Carlos was pretty sure today up there with the worst shifts on record. As he jogged lightly up the apartment steps, squinting under the harsh lighting, he tried not to fantasize about bed too much.

He tripped at the top step and the deadbolt fought him. Some days are just cursed.

Carlos shouldered his gear bag and swung the door open. The first thing that hit him was the scent of enchiladas. Not just any enchiladas– these were his abuela’s _,_ the special ones with extra cayenne, stuffed with chicken and queso fresco _._ They smelled like childhood and laughter, and Carlos paused halfway through the door, struck by an odd feeling of vulnerability. He took in the sound of music playing gently in the kitchen, mingling with the rattle of plates and a low sizzle of sautéed vegetables.

“TK?” Carlos called. He set his bag down and slipped off his shoes, then walked further inside.

He found TK in the kitchen. Carlos paused, suddenly awash in the way TK had his hip propped against the wall, a dishtowel slung over his good shoulder, a streak of flour on his cheek, a soft grin on his lips and a light in his eyes. He looked relaxed, content, unbearably sexy, and it was only intense exhaustion­ and a considerable amount of self-control that kept Carlos from bending him over the countertop right there.

Instead, he padded over into TK’s waiting embrace. “Hey,” he murmured, sliding his hands around TK’s waist.

“Hey.” TK draped his arms over Carlos’s shoulders and brought one hand up to stroke gently over the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled Carlos into a gentle kiss, and Carlos melted into him, the stress of the day dissolving in the supple slide of TK’s lips on his.

TK sighed and pulled Carlos flush against his body. Carlos tightened his grip on TK’s hips, breathed in the sharp scent of his aftershave, and maybe it was the weight of the day and how tired he was, but his heart suddenly twisted with desperate gratitude that this was happening at all, that they were both there in this moment. That TK was still here.

It had been almost a year since the shooting, but every now and then, late at night or when he was feeling vulnerable, Carlos remembered. The call, the dread, the coma. The violent relief when TK woke up.

As if sensing his change in mood, TK pulled back, leaving their foreheads pressed together. “You okay?” he murmured, still running his hand over Carlos’s neck.

“Long day,” Carlos admitted hoarsely. TK’s hand tightened, kneading the tension below Carlos’s skull, earning a soft groan.

Before Carlos could ooze into the floor entirely, TK pecked him on the tip of the nose and released him. “Go get changed, dinner’s almost ready.”

Carlos whined softly, not taking his hands from TK’s waist, chasing his touch. TK laughed and shoved Carlos in the chest. “Go on! I need to take these enchiladas out.” Carlos huffed, but let the momentum carry him toward their bedroom.

The salt lamp in the corner was on, a gift from Owen– something about ionic cleansing and balancing feng shui– and the scent of lavender and pinewood from the oil diffuser– also from Owen– filled the air. Carlos had to admit it was pretty damn relaxing. He sat on the edge of the bed and took a moment to breathe. He hadn’t noticed until a few months into their relationship, after they had moved in together, but part of him was always a little on edge when he wasn’t within earshot of TK. Now that he could hear him, the swish of his sweatpants and the faint clink as he set a pair of glasses on the counter, that deep-set knot in Carlos’s gut released.

He changed quickly into a pair of sweats and one of TK’s sleep shirts, relaxing even more into his scent. When he returned to the kitchen, he found two settings placed at the bar and the lights dimmed midway. An old rock song was playing on the radio, and TK was half-leaning over two plates of enchiladas, sprinkling cilantro and caramelized onions onto them, and Carlos was struck again by that searing thankfulness.

“Did you, Tyler Kennedy Strand,” Carlos said, sidling up behind TK and draping himself onto his shoulders, “cook my grandmother’s special enchiladas at one in the morning after a Thursday shift?”

TK smirked, biting his lip in pleasure. “Impressed?”

Carlos kissed his cheek. “Always.” 

TK’s eyes glowed. He bumped Carlos lightly with his hip. “Go sit down, I got this.” Carlos pecked him once more, then abided. He slid onto the barstool with a groan before taking a long draught of the mineral water in glasses on the table.

A steaming plate of food appeared before him a moment later. Carlos inhaled, practically feasting on the fragrant scents of spices and farm cheese. Though their shifts lined up most nights, they were both normally too tired to do more than browse for leftovers or order out. Special meals like this were a weekend thing.

Except tonight, apparently. TK sat next to him with his own plate, and Carlos noticed there was still flour on his cheek. “We gotta work on your tortilla-making damage control,” he joked, sweeping the flour off with his thumb.

“Shut up,” TK said, and snapped playfully at his hand.

“Jesus!” Carlos drew back his hand with exaggerated speed. “Eat your food before you resort to cannibalism.”

“Speak for yourself,” TK said, cutting into his food. “You look like you’re about to drop. Did you have any time to eat today?”

“Not really. It was pretty nonstop,” Carlos admitted. “Which is why I’m going to ignore you for the next five minutes while I eat these incredible enchiladas.”

TK laughed, and started eating. For a while they ate in comfortable silence, sharing the food and the quiet as the day sloughed off both of them.

“Which, by the way, why?” Carlos asked at length.

TK quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked around a mouthful of _pollo._

“The enchiladas. I mean, it’s a Thursday, and you got off a sixteen hour shift today. And this is not an easy recipe, and you got it perfect.”

TK got gentle look in his eyes, and to Carlos’s surprise, he blushed a little. “I…you’ve been tired this week. The last couple days seem like they’ve been rough, and I wanted you to come home to some good food instead of Cup Noodles at least once this week.”

Carlos’s eyes stung. He put down his fork and slumped sideways, letting his forehead fall onto TK’s shoulder.

“Woah, hey,” TK said. He turned on the stool and scooted close, and brought Carlos’s head up to rest on his shoulder. “What’s going on, baby?”

Carlos let out a shaky breath. “There was…we got called out to a body today. He’d been shot.” He brought his hands up around TK’s back, ghosting over the scar he knew lay under his shirt between his spine and shoulder blade. “I just…sometimes I think about what could have happened, and…” Carlos held TK closer. “I’m so grateful you’re in my life, TK.”

TK was silent and still, and Carlos was suddenly afraid he had brought up memories bad enough to tarnish the night.

Then TK cupped Carlos’s face and lifted it gently so their eyes could meet. “I’m still here, Carlos,” he said gently. “And I’m so grateful too. You make me happier than I ever thought I could be.” He pressed a long, lingering kiss to Carlos’s jawline, at the same spot that will knock someone out if you punch them there. Carlos shivered, all the tension and tenderness and peripheral grief that had been swirling around in his mind fading out. His tired heart began to settle.

“Hey,” TK said after a while, “c’mere.” He pulled Carlos off the stool and into the kitchen. That old song was still playing, and Carlos realized he recognized it.

TK grasped one of Carlos’s hands and placed the other at his waist. He leaned close.

“Dance with me.”

Carlos burrowed his face into the crook of TK’s neck, and mirrored his hands. They began to sway with the music.

“I love you so much, mi amor,” Carlos whispered. 

TK kissed Carlos’s shoulder, breathing him in. “I love you too. More than I can ever say.” His lips moved up, following the beat of the music, until they found Carlos’s mouth.

Until they found each other, as they always would.

Carlos was tired and life could be cruel. But the boy he loved was in his arms, and Elvin Bishop was singing about how he _fooled around and fell in love,_ and the air smelled like cayenne and lavender and TK.

They were both here, here for each other, and that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
